Book pitches.  Movie trailers.  They serve the same purpose: to introduce the book or movie in the most attractive way possible.  Thus, creating a trailer or pitch revolves around finding the most attractive view.

I’m not going to try a how-to-write-pitches post, because I have seldom done it, and never well.  However, I enjoy seeing trailers and pitches and comparing them to the full-length production.  I have something to say about them.

The other day, I saw Star Trek: Into Darkness in the theater.  It was amazing, and was my first time seeing Eggs Beneditch Cookie-batch (Benedict Cumberbatch) in action– but that isn’t the point.  Needless to say, it was prefixed by decades of previews of movies to come.  One of them was for the movie World War Z.  As you can probably guess, the trailer is a little bit violent, so click on the link if you want to see it.

Is the movie worth watching?  No, I don’t think so.  The trailer, however, is worth studying.

We see here a classic action movie, dystopian, portrayed as emotional yet explosive– and of course, as a Brad Pitt masterpiece.  Barely a third of the trailer isn’t taken up with his face, and that third is packed with explosions.  We see Brad Pitt as a loving father trying to get back to his family.

That’s about it.

What are they trying to showcase?  What, to them, is the most attractive feature of this film?

Brad Pitt, saying, “I need answers!”

Personally, I’m not sold.  I thought the premise was rather good, though– there seemed to be a lot of mayhem and madness about the world.  I’m curious: what actually happened?  Who are they talking about defeating?  What is going on?  The trailer doesn’t say.

For comparison, consider Partials, a very similarly-pitched book (without Brad Pitt) that I was sold on.  The back says, “’When our ancestors were attacked at Pearl Harbor, they called it a day that would live in infamy. The day the Partials attacked us with the RM Virus will not live in anything, because there will be none of us left to remember it.’  -President David R. Cregan, March 21, 2065, in a press conference at the White House. Three hours later he hanged himself.”  (Via GoodReads.)

This is, in itself, a pitch.  A very good one.  It does the same thing as the World War Z trailer, but better: it shows mayhem and hopelessness, but instead of focusing on its main character/star actor, it focuses on the enemy.  World War Z: who is the enemy?  No idea.  Partials: who is the enemy?  The Partials, with the RM Virus.

In this case, the author thought the mayhem and enemy were more important than the main character, and he was right.  In World War Z, the most important part is Brad Pitt and mayhem– to them, an infallible combination.

The movie I was going to see, Star Trek: Into Darkness, has a very distinctive trailer.  It too has quite a bit of violence, but it’s worth studying as well.

What is this trailer trying to showcase?  What is its most attractive feature?

By far, its Star Trek-ness.  Star Trek has an enormous fan base, an enormous world– the universe is its world, and you can’t get better than that unless you do multiple universes (I won’t even mention Fringe).  Its biggest feature, its most attractive feature, is that it is Star Trek.  The trailer shows colored shirts, star ships, phasers, Kirk, Scotty, Spock, and of course, Khan.

Second to that, however, they are showcasing the story.  You watch it and get the sense that everything is falling apart.  Falling off cliffs multiple times; prophesying doom upon all who serve under Captain Kirk; and explosions.  Lots of explosions.

This is important to the producers.  Perhaps they could have given a detailed explanation of what Captain Kirk wants, with a few close-ups of him saying things like “I want answers”, as they did for Brad Pitt.  But Captain Kirk isn’t important to the film.  The story and the setting are important.

Considering that Brad Pitt is one of the most important things in World War Z, I doubt it will be much to see.  I thought the same of Oblivion, wherein they showed close-ups of Tom Cruise looking determined, which was obviously most important to them, more important than what happened to humankind.

Remember: this isn’t a how-to post.  It’s just noticing something very important about what’s important.  But if you’re looking for a trailer or pitch to write, just keep in mind what’s most attractive about the story.

Even literary fiction writers couldn’t say no to that.

Every story needs conflict, and conflict always comes from something or someone that directly opposes the protagonist.  It doesn’t matter if the protagonist is Bob, who just wants his sandwich– there will always be an antagonist.  They don’t have to be big and spiky and carry a war club; the antagonist could seem like a friend.  You could even go for the “at war with himself” bit.  The antagonist could be another person, the hero himself, the world, society, or anything you want– all it does is oppose the hero.

In fantasy, however, the antagonist is usually a person: big, spiky, carrying a war club, also known as evil incarnate.  This person is so much more powerful than the protagonist that it seems crazy to hope for victory.

How do you get an entire series out of a single antagonist, then, if the antagonist can squash the protagonist with a maleficent thumb?

That’s easy.  You throw the minions at the hero first.  The knife-throwing assassin who creeps through the window to poison a few drinks is fully capable of killing the hero– except that he left a green drop of poison on the rim of the cup, which was spotted just in time.  Next, the team of enormous monsters with bad eyes go nosing around the campsite.  They too could destroy the hero and company by sitting down in the wrong place– but one begins eating the pack horse, which doesn’t like it.  Fear, fire, foes, awake, and off the monsters hobble.  The hero fears these attackers, but his confidence grows with each failed attempt.  This infallibly leads to the question:

“IS THIS THE BEST YOU CAN DO?”

Of course, it isn’t– but the audience wonders.  Where is the villain?  Why doesn’t he come out and squash these puny humans?  It’s in his best interests, after all.  *gasp*  Could this be all the strength the villain has?  What if these monsters and assassins are actually more powerful than the villain?

It’s dangerous when the villain’s minions are more feared than the villain himself.  The villain has to stay aloof– else the hero would die on page two– but his minions are stealing the show.  What is to be done?

Brian Jacques did it easily.  Using his third-person omniscient style, he just showed the villain in counsel with his assassin before the dastardly deed.  It gave a sense of impending doom to the sequence as well.

For those of us struggling to contain stories within first-person or third-person limited styles, we need something less like that and more like the ending of political ads: “I am Mr. Evil and I approve this message.”  By tacking the villain’s name onto everything bad, the minions defer hate to the villain.  In Wall-E, the world is desolate and the human race contained, and everywhere we see the sign of the big corporation running everything.  We get the sense that it was all their fault.

The other option is Gandalf.  Someone has probably seen this assassin or breed of monsters before– they can probably point to the villain as the source of all this trouble.  But don’t fall into the trap of the old guy who’s seen everything just because it exists– try the young guy whose village was destroyed by these monsters (still really cliche, though) or the passing farmer who sees the body and says, “Why, that there badge is the sign of the Great Evil– my gramma used to tell me about ‘im.  Bad world we’re livin’ in, that’s sure as sure.”

One of the big changes they made to the Hobbit for the movie was the spread of antagonists.  In the book, Bilbo Baggins just explores the world, which seems determined to kill him because he’s short.  The movie brought out the growing evil in Mirkwood as the main antagonist, and all the smaller antagonists acted by his command.  (Except Azog– he’s sort of another entity altogether.  They deal with that like Brian Jacques did.)  The big change was the mountain trolls– Gandalf and Thorin talk about them travelling down from the mountains, which they haven’t done since the days of the great evil or whatever.  It coincides with the Necromancer’s return.  Even more obvious is the return of the Witch King of Angmar from the dead– that instantly points to the Necromancer.

Capricorn and Basta from Inkheart are the two main villains, but no one fears Capricorn half as much as Basta.  Basta seems real and present– his knives are always under our noses, threatening us, and he works independently of his master.  Unfortunately, that means that Capricorn doesn’t seem as nasty as he ought, especially since he’s the one burning books and kidnapping Mo.  Capricorn seems like a puppet villain– only there for show.

Similarly, Sauron sits atop his tower and does nothing while his orcs ravage Middle Earth.  We definitely get the sense that he’s powerful and evil, but did he ride out to the last battle at the Black Gate?  Nope.  He left that to his Nazgul, his orcs, and his trolls.  He sits far off and gazes, and there’s nothing evil about gazing.  Furthermore, we see the Ring corrupting Frodo constantly along his journey– we fear it much more than its source of evilness, Sauron.  We know that even if Sauron is defeated again, his spirit will live on in his Ring.  It isn’t as if we can blow him up and reduce the Ring to a meaningless piece of jewelry; it’s the other way around.  The Ring becomes the real villain instead of its master.

Villains are a dying breed, and you don’t want them to be eclipsed by their minions.  Make sure your audience knows their villain.

A taxi pulls up beside him and the driver leans out.  ”You called, sir?  Your phone must have pocket-dialed, and I heard you ask for a taxi. I was only a few feet behind you, so I figured I’d help out.  There will be no charge, sir– my last passenger overpaid me, and I feel generous.”

What is this?  It’s a coincidence, of course!  How does one pocket-dial a taxi just when one is about to ask for a taxi?  How does one even know a taxi driver’s number?  How are taxi drivers polite?

And how does all that happen by accident?

These are called coincidences, and they have a bad habit of resolving plot twists too easily.  Your main character needs a gun?  Waddayano, the crate he just crashed through is full of them, even though it just passed through airport security.  He doesn’t know how to shoot it?  It has a little sticker on the side that says “Point at anyone wearing angry expressions and pull little crescent trigger thing.”

Suddenly, your main character is waltzing through plot twists, plowing through every problem that presents itself.  There is no conflict anymore– he forces a henchman to tell him the direction of the secret base, hails a taxi by accident, and drops a convenient refrigerator on the villain.  Look at that, the story is finished in three pages.  Is there suspense?  No.  Is there conflict?  No.  Are there stunning plot twists?  No.  Is it a classic good-vs-evil story?  Yes.

Stories have to be hard for the main characters.  What fun would they be to read if they weren’t?   The finish isn’t spectacular unless the journey is, and the journey isn’t spectacular unless it’s hard.

Deus ex machina, on which I recently posted, is just a big coincidence.  The same technique is used to solve both: foreshadowing.  If the main character is in the shipping area of a gun factory, it wouldn’t be surprising if he crashed through a crate full of guns during his battle with a henchman.  In that case, it’s a coincidence that works– he still can’t shoot the thing, but that’s a small problem.

But not all coincidences are bad.  Let’s look at the example again.

Your main character is walking down the street.  Or rather, running.  He is being chased by a large crowd of minions, led by the villain himself.  Several of them are shooting at him, and none of them have such lousy aim that they might shoot each other.  The main character hears the villain say to himself, “This walking business is tiring and inefficient.  I really need to catch up to this hero quickly so I can kill him.  I wish I had a taxi.”  Suddenly, a taxi pulls up and offers its services free of charge.  Could this be the hero’s final hour?

It’s not, let’s be honest.  The hero will succeed, defeating the villain and blowing up cars as he gets the girl with time to spare.  But still, was there suspense?  Yes.  Conflict?  Yes.  Plot twists?  Yes.  Classic good vs evil?  Yes.  All this simply because of…

Coincidences!  Funny how that works.  (Coincidental, maybe?  Let’s not go there.)  But instead of coincidences in the hero’s favor, these coincidences were in the villain’s favor.  There doesn’t have to be any foreshadowing for the villain, either.  He wants to find a recently-sharpened axe lying around a pacifist’s house?  Sure thing, boss.  The main character and the reader might be incredulous at his good luck, but they won’t be put off by such a blatant contrivance.  After all, it makes the journey harder and the story better.

The audience is remarkably callous in that respect.

Coincidences for the main character are bad.  Coincidences for the villain are good.  Know when you use them and know which is which.

And then there are the books I’ve begun but never finished.  They stare at me accusingly from where they lie next to the ever-growing pile of completed books, never moving, just collecting dust.  I’ve renewed them as many times as possible, but soon the librarians will hunt me down with squeaky book carts and date-due slips.  What, exactly, am I not reading?  And why?  Let’s begin.

Larklight, by Philip Reeve

Larklight is a middle grade steampunk, written in a very old style that I don’t much like.  I have seen Reeve’s books in other places, and none of them have appealed to me.  I have read one review that said his books were horrible, but beyond that, I didn’t know.  So I decided to give it a shot.

No.  Suspense: no.  Characters: no.  World: no.  Style: no.  It’s nothing.  It’s almost painful.  Dumas, Tolstoy, and Hugo write in slightly archaic styles that are still readable– that’s why they’re classics.  Reeve writes present day stories using strange words when needed to make things sound dusty.  The summary is a perfect example: “A Rousing Tale of Dauntless Pluck in the Far Reaches of Space.”  Dauntless pluck?  No thanks.

Days of Blood and Starlight, by Laini Taylor

Days of Blood and Starlight is the sequel to Daughter of Smoke and Bone.  (Which is also by Laini Taylor, if you were wondering.  I don’t know why you would, but for clarity’s sake.)  I struggled through the first one and came to a dead stop on the second.  Why?  I don’t enjoy it.  The characters are good, the writing is excellent, but the story…  I’ll sum it up.  Strange girl works for strange person and suddenly realizes she is actually an even stranger girl who was once in love with another strange person.  The story consists of two characters telling completely different stories, but since they sort of recognize each other in two chance encounters, there should be something connecting them.  There isn’t, which provides tension until the end, at which point a plot twist explodes and showers revelations upon everyone.  It’s barely even a love story.  This would truthfully be classified as paranormal romance.  There’s an undercurrent of fantastical mystery, but it’s nothing more than an undercurrent.  I don’t enjoy it.

Finnikin of the Rock, by Melina Marchetta

This book has been recommended by several sources.  It looks promising– nice and thick and fantasy.  Unfortunately, I hate the main character.  I hate the love interest who never actually developed into a love interest except through unclear hints.  I hate the side characters.  I hate the portrayal of all the characters.  I dislike the morals, the dialogue, everything.  It could have been done well… but it isn’t.  I can’t get through it.

Dune, by Frank Herbert

Supposedly the greatest science fiction novel ever.  Is it?  I don’t know.  I haven’t gotten past the first five chapters.  It isn’t like the first few books, which I disliked characters and style and such– with Dune, it’s simply the size.  I don’t have time for such an enormous book.

Those four books are the bane of my existence.  I will probably finish each of them, but will I go back for more?  No.  Except perhaps Dune.

Or not.  It depends: are you in a philosophical mood?

But one thing that always is true for thieves is their plots.  They never fail to embark on great journeys and quests that turn their characters around.

I’ve posted about character development before– how you must outweigh the bad with the good that comes later– but that had more to do with character development on a whim than character development through the plot.

It is said that journeys change you.  With the Hero With A Thousand Faces monomyth, the hero always changes through the ordeal and ends the story better for it.  But it isn’t just the hero deciding, “I must return home better than I started; here, wizened old beggar, you may have my walking stick.  I can sign it if you want.”  The journey changes him.

Pixar has this down to a science.  Woody, solitary leader of Andy’s toys, has his leadership challenged when Buzz Lightyear arrives on the scene.  His flaw: he likes power.  The plot: someone else suddenly gains power.  The development: he realizes he can occasionally submit to the newcomer without losing respect.  It sounds pathetic when you say it like that, but it’s true.  Buzz Lightyear is the antagonist.

You don’t change your protagonist, your plot changes your protagonist.  Example story: Never trusted in his life, a thief is called by accident to be the primary guard of the kingdom’s greatest treasure and defend it against the king’s worst enemies.  Main character: the thief.  His flaw: he is dishonorable– he considers his honor to be worthless.  The plot: someone else thinks his honor has worth, and trusts him.  The development: he realizes that if someone thinks his honor valuable, it is valuable.

It sounds formulaic.  It is.  This sums up Tangled, in fact.  It sums up Ratatouille.  It’s wrapped up in the single question, “You trust me?”

Perhaps it feels repulsive to you.  It might.  My point is, the plot should do the developing, not the author.  The plot should be specifically tailored to the main character.

For me, it’s hard.  I don’t have main characters before I start novels.  I have, “What if someone had a highly contagious disease and then was forced to shake hands with everyone around him?”  Or something like that.  (I’ve never written that one, so you can have it.)  I just start with some sort of conflict and figure out what character I want from there.  I never create the character and make the plot later.  It doesn’t work for me.

However, this could be a spectacular way to choose your main character.  The Writing Excuses people say that your narrator should be the person with the highest emotional stakes in that scene.  What about in the story?  If you need someone to guard the kingdom’s precious treasure, why choose someone who is ready and able?  Choose a thief, for whom the task is unthinkable.

The idea here is to take your main character’s greatest flaw and use the plot to directly challenge it.  The story ends when the flaw has resolved.

Of course, some of us love flaws.  That thief’s attitude toward the world might be incorrect in your opinion, but it makes him lovable all the same.  If that attitude suddenly changed, where would we be?  Everything we loved about him would be gone in a puff of smoke.  We don’t want a perfect character, after all– we want a delightfully imperfect one.  You have to be careful not to change the qualities the reader likes best.  Take Iron Man, for instance.  He’s pretty horrible at the beginning, but some of his flaws (conceit and independence) endear us to him, and others don’t (willingness to blow the world to smithereens).  However, as the movie progresses, his greatest flaw (blowing the world up) disappears and he becomes something better.  He’s still conceited and independent, as we see in the later movies, but those are the things we like about him.

Try to condense your main character into the four things I gave for Toy Story: the pitch, the flaw, the plot, and the development.  If you can’t find it, perhaps you need to dig deeper– or your characters aren’t developing through the story.

The Phil Phorce, episode four: When Percival finally gets the powerful position he’s always wanted, he finds himself in a situation he can’t control.  The flaw: arrogance.  The plot: he doesn’t have the knowledge or abilities he needs to lead.  The development: he backs down and allows someone else to be the hero.

“What are some of the coolest/weirdest/funniest/most disturbing things you’ve researched for a story?”

To be honest, I don’t remember.  I often forget the results of my searches just after closing the browser, prompting a second search that may just stick in my head long enough for me to write about it.  But the wonderful thing about Google Chrome, run by that bunch of evil spies, is that it saves every single part of your history.

Really, the only one I can remember (before we go running through my history), is researching how aluminum foil burns, and at what temperature.  The idea was to figure out if aluminum foil would melt under the fire (literally) of a flamethrower.  I still haven’t managed to get the answers I needed.

One thing I find as I search through my history is this: I give my own blog a lot of views.  This is mostly used in replying to comments, trying to remember where the conversation was going before I say something completely off-topic.

Most of the search terms I find have been for blog posts– researching the real meaning of Deus ex machina, whether to use “more awesome” or “awesomer” (since my spell check says the latter is incorrect), and whether or not my potential spam commenters’ organization is real.  (It turns out that comment was legitimate, but it looked at the keywords of my post and wrote something directly opposite what I was saying.  I spammed him anyway.)

For stories, I mostly research definitions.  Even though there will be a microscopic edit later, it’s unwise to write something you don’t mean, like “equestrian” referring to riderless horses.  If at all possible, never seem like an idiot.

All in all, however, I tend not to search that many things, especially concepts.  Famous people of whom I wish to make fun– yes.  If you will die after hanging upside-down for too long– yes.  The universal repercussions of creating a flaming sonic boom?  No.  If you’re writing steadily, the last thing you want is to research physics– that can wait until the second draft, unless there is no second draft (which is occasionally the case).

Participants:

5^th – http://theloonyteenwriter.wordpress.com/

6^th – http://deborahrocheleau.wordpress.com/

7^th – http://bloodoverithaca.wordpress.com/

8^th – http://charleyrobson.blogspot.com/

9^th – http://musingsfromnevillesnavel.wordpress.com/

10^th – http://nonconformistwriter.blogspot.com/

11^th – http://dearsaul.wordpress.com/

12^th – http://missalexandrinabrant.wordpress.com/

13^th – http://insideliamsbrain.wordpress.com/

14^th – http://cinderscoria.blogspot.com/

15^th – http://emilyvaneaton.wordpress.com/

16^th – http://www.brookeharrison.com/

17^th – http://thespasticwriter.blogspot.com/

18^th – http://veewhoa.wordpress.com/

19^th – http://www.mandilynn.com/

20^th – http://theteenagewriter.wordpress.com/

21^st – http://avonsbabbles.wordpress.com/

22^nd – http://realityisimaginary.blogspot.com

23^rd – http://miriamjoywrites.wordpress.com/

24^th – http://anomalous93.blogspot.com/

25^th – http://thelittleenginethatcouldnt.wordpress.com/

26^th – http://ktlemonhead.wordpress.com/

27^th – http://dreamerheadquarters.wordpress.com/

28^th – http://paulinaczarnecki.wordpress.com/

29^th – http://www.lilyjenness.blogspot.com/

30th – http://teenscanwritetoo.wordpress.com/ (We’ll announce the topic for next month’s chain)

I doubt it.  Even if you could, your brain would be steaming right now, trying to process the double time paradox I was just concocting.  (Even I don’t try to process those.)  So if you could hear what I was thinking, you’re probably dead right now.

Now can anyone hear what I’m thinking?

You can hypothesize, you can deduce, or you can try for a telepathic connection, but chances are you can’t hear the thoughts of other people.

In a fictional narrative, authors frequently write in the viewpoint character’s thoughts.  It’s a luxury prose writers have, to tell the audience exactly what’s running through the character’s head.  Unfortunately, it can often be too much to know what the character is thinking, especially since it often runs afoul of the “show, don’t tell” advice everyone gives.  I posted recently about a character’s imagination and the importance of writing that into a narrative, but not all thoughts are the greatest.

As I watch TV shows, I try to come up with rules that govern them.  CSI, Fringe, even Doctor Who– they’re all formulaic in structure, plot, and characters.  Even if you have an ageless time lord flying around in a police box, you still have to follow the same rules as the guy writing four cops trying to solve a murder in NYC.  One of the big rules I’ve found, which works for any screenplay, is that in a scene, there are never less than two characters.

Think about it.  A character has all these puzzle pieces jumbled around in her head and on the walk home from work, she tries to put them together.  Would you rather have her talk to herself the entire way and get strange looks from the entire town population?  Or should she have a friend upon whom she can heap all her tangled thoughts?  Or, worst of all, would you like a voice-over the whole way?  Or you could do it like reality and have two minutes of her walking home in silence, making faces like she’s mentally inspecting a jar of moldy pickles.

The only real yet practical option is the second, speaking to a friend.  When have our ideas not come together when we get it all out into the open air?  It doesn’t matter if we’re talking to a cat or a genius (or both– can’t have those feline-lovers making a fuss).  And sometimes you just need someone to ask the obviously stupid questions that the audience can’t ask.  To keep the second character in his correct role, you’ll have to make sure he isn’t familiar with this concept before he asks dumb questions about it, but other than that, any character will do.

Occasionally it’s possible to convey thoughts through facial expressions or actions.  If so, good for you!  Most times, however, the audience doesn’t realize that the traitor was actually the main character’s best friend from just an expression of shock.  She could be thinking about dinner, realizing that she just left her friend the Desolator of Refrigerators home with the leftover cheeseburger she thought she’d eat.

Characters interact in pairs.  Two people are walking through a decrepit building.  One brushes aside a spiderweb and says, “This place is creepy.”  The other shines a flashlight on the rat chewing its way through a priceless antique and says, “No, this is cool!  Think of all the history!”  You can generate either emotion easily on its own– creaking doors, unknown noises in the walls, a cat scare here or there; or else an original painting, a beautiful armchair, and a framed photograph of Julius Caesar and Brutus giving each other bunny ears.  But to do both at once, leaving the audience to decide which they like best– it can’t be done with setting or description.

And then there’s practicality, conciseness.  Two characters need to argue in the course of the story, and you’re building up to it.  At about the same point, your main character needs to investigate something.  Why have two scenes when you can have one?  Even using that last example, say the main character is the history person: simply have the argument escalate from that difference in opinions.  ”You never care about anything but the history!  Want to know some history I’ve never forgotten?  [Airing of old grievances here.]  I hate you!”  And the creeped-out character stomps away as the curtain closes and the scene changes.  Remember my post on contrast?  Here it is, in all its glory.  The elation of the history-oriented character to find so much about his past, clashing with the loss of a good friend.  I keep getting the urge to write “Boom”, so I will.  BOOM!  It’s emotional to the extreme.

These character foils erase infodumps, clear up dead space, and keep things concise.  No more monologues about “Nancy thought…”  Of course, as a prose writer, you’re still allowed those every so often, but it shouldn’t be the only way the reader gets inside the main character’s head.

Writing Advice: Part 1 | The Other Side of the Story Podcast.

I know I just posted a short post full of links, but this one is too awesome to ignore.  It’s only fifteen minutes.  Go listen.

Look, for instance, at the epic fantasy Team of Awesome.  The old guy who wants the prophecies fulfilled and the world set to rights.  The young hotshot who wants to spit in the face of Lord Maleficent.  (He might be a traitor eventually.)  The girl who really just exists for the romance plot line, but Lord Maleficent killed her father.  And the protagonist, the Chosen One, born to fulfill a prophecy spoken ages ago by an old blind soothsayer.

What do they want?  The old guy wants the world better again.  The hotshot wants glory.  The girl wants revenge.  The protagonist might want anything, but it’s always associated with Lord Maleficent dying.

Lord Maleficent probably wants to live.

All of these goals center around Lord Maleficent.  He’s a pretty important guy for this story.  But if we create any more heroes focused on Lord Maleficent, what’s to keep him from getting a swelled head about it?  You might as well name the story after him.

Enter Dustfinger, the perfect way to bring the big characters down a notch.  Dustfinger cares not for Mo, not for Meggie, not for Fenoglio, not for Capricorn– he cares only for the book, Inkheart, his one path back home.  You could rewrite the book from his perspective, the story of how he finally gets back home.  But that would be boring, and it would rob us of an awesome side character.

Dustfinger has a goal separate from that of the main character, but their goals lie in the same place.  They journey alongside one another, tying things together, but actually creating two stories in the same novel.

It takes an incredible imagination to create two plot lines within the same novel, but it be easier than you think.  We think of multiple character arcs– the girl who lost her father, the hotshot struggling with his allegiances, the old guy who dies– but what about multiple stories?  It’s slightly harder, yes, but think about it.  More than once, I’ve planned sequels before writing the first books in the series.  Why not add the two together?  No, not completely, or your main character would be finding the magical thingamajig while trying to kill Lord Maleficent.  What would happen if you gave finding the magical thingamajig to the love interest girl?  And hey, that thingamajig is in the greasy clutches of Lord Maleficent himself.  Whaddayano?

Of course, this isn’t completely unheard of: Star Wars, for example.  Han Solo, smuggler, gambler, captain of the Millennium Falcon, only wants money to pay off his debts.  He has no personal problem with evil ruling the galaxy.  Luke Skywalker might want to blow up stuff, but that’s not Han’s problem– once he gets his money, he’s gone.  The separate plot line creates the one character in the movie that everyone loves.

Mulch Diggums from Artemis Fowl, only wants gold, and to be out of his goblin-filled prison cell.  He doesn’t care if Artemis fails or succeeds– if he gets money, he’s fine.  He is one of the best characters in that book.

Obviously, this works best with the dishonest; people who care only about themselves won’t get caught up by the nobleness of bringing evil to an end, so they can complete their own tasks without hindrance.  But if they’ve formed any sort of attachment with the main characters, there can be an emotional scene where they decide whether to get off the train here or personally help evil fall.

It is difficult to juggle several plot lines at once.  Victor Hugo was a genius to create something like Les Miserables.  But however difficult it is, a separate plot line will bring that character high above the rest.

Secondly, I’ve agreed to guest post for The Book Chewers.  May is Inkheart month for them, and my post about the universally beloved Dustfinger will be appearing in time.  Watch for that.  In addition, since the Book Chewers are more about reading than writing, I’ll soon produce something in line with that, focusing on the writerly side instead.  Watch for both of those.

I have recently become aware of a rather… interesting part of internet entertainment: comic space operas!  Schlock Mercenary is basically about an amorphous mass who goes around the universe blowing stuff up.  It’s a very interesting production, and it isn’t difficult to jump into the middle.  (If you don’t want to do that, you can go back and read the first thirteen years.)

So that’s that!  Go wild.